The Unseen Drivers Of Our Decisions

The other day, I wrote a bit about my health journey, coming to the conclusion that the the good hours are not guaranteed. That idea sent my mind off on a tangent. My final destination? The $320 hairbrush I bought to commemorate beginning to feel better and starting a new job.

For years, my arms felt like they weighed hundreds of pounds. I was too fatigued to lift a fork or wash my hair. When I became too unkempt to look at myself in the mirror, the cheap plastic bristles on my old brush scratched my scalp and ripped out my fine hair.

A little over a year ago, our home had just been remediated and was starting to feel better. Though I quickly relapsed (there was still mold), in the moment I clicked to confirm the purchase, I was filled with hope.

I am not the type to spend money on myself. I don’t care about brand names, luxury goods, or beauty products. It was very out-of-character for me to desire a beauty product, let alone one that cost as much as our monthly groceries.

I didn’t understand why I needed that brush until now.

The other day, while getting ready for bed, my boyfriend asked what was taking so long. I had flossed, brushed my teeth, washed my face, applied a facial oil, moisturized the rest of my body, and brushed my hair.

For years, I did not have the energy or strength to do any of those things on a regular basis. Buying the hairbrush felt significant. It was the milestone leading me into a new stage of life–a stage of life where I am well enough to practice self-care again.

Since feeling better, I now start each day by brushing my teeth, washing my face, applying sunscreen, and brushing my hair. Every evening, I follow a similar bedtime routine. These actions are no longer chores, but instead gifts long-withheld. Gifts to myself, for myself.

Unbeknownst to me at the time, the overpriced hairbrush was my silent intention to reintroduce rituals of self-love. It’s a promise to myself that, without even realizing I had made, I’ve kept.